Ash and Snow
by Revelation6166
Summary: Twenty years have passed since the Oblivion Crisis. Two famlies find themselves at the centre of a new threat about to strike the heart of the Empire, a civil war. Some will rise, most will fall. Rated T for extreme future violence, swearing and sex.
1. Chapter 1 Tear

_Note: Ok, if this story plays out the way I planned it, it is going to get very complicated, so bare with me. It starts out a bit slow, but will pick up pace eventually. There is also a small problem concerning continuity with the Oblivion plot line. This is a sequel which takes place roughly twenty years later after the Oblivion crisis. For this to work out, in my world, Martin survives the ending and becomes Emperor (I'll try and think of an reason later). Other than that, it should be really faithful to the world of Elder Scrolls...so...enjoy!_

**Chapter 1**

Eowyn walked slowly through the keep, groggy from just being roused from sleep. The Dunmer had been woken from a rather enjoyable dream, which involved him, three naked maidens, and a dimly lit room.

Remembering what day it was, he threw on a poorly buttoned tunic and the first pair of breeches he could find. He didn't bother brushing his -now greasy- black hair. It was short, shorter than most men in the castle, and decided it was presentable enough. Bags under his eyes, and his green-blue skin pillow marked: the dunmer youth went on his way.

He embraced the heat of the morning sun as sunlight oozed leisurely through the stained glass windows. Depicted on those windows were historical events throughout Morrowind's history: Great battles, coronations, ect which he took little interest in. That was something Tamira excelled at, and he was on his way to see her now. She was most likely out in the garden reading or feeding the exotic Black Marsh bred fish in the pond. She was always an early riser, in fact, his whole family were early risers, always awake before sunrise.

He began to pick up his pace a bit, walking briskly past servants and maids who were getting the keep ready for the day. He was glad his father was not around to comment on his appearance. He jumped down the main stairs two at a time and walked out into the courtyard to the familiar ringing of swordplay. No doubt that meant Banor was around.

Banor was a few years older than Eowyn, and was heir to their fathers title, Lord of Tear. He was a master swordsman, winner of many a tourney, and gained the respect of all around him. This was apposed to Eowyn who considered his greatest accomplishment was bedding the castle's mage, Mir, who was the desire of every man in the castle. It took some time, but Eowyn finally managed to seduce the cold woman, with the help of his good friend whiskey. Never the less, when his father found out about the whole incident, she was expelled from his services, much to the disappointment of the men. Well, not unless you included Sir Wayman. He always did have a preference for young boys.

As predicted, Eowyn found Banor in the old barracks along with Warren, an Imperial boy who served as his page.

"M..M...Master Eowyn." the boy mumbled as he watched the Dunmer enter. Banor turned and noticed his younger brother standing in the doorway.

"Ahh, I see you've woken at last." He jested. "Leave us." He ordered quickly to the boy.

" Ye...Yes Master." Warren whisked past Eowyn, avoiding all eye contact, as if those fiery eyes were gates into Oblivion itself.

"Come, sit, what kept you so long? You look aweful" He ran his dirt stained hands through his ash coloured hair, a nervous habit Banor had developed.

Eowyn smirked. "I was with a lovely wench, if you must know." He sat down on the bench opposite Banor, ignoring the fact that it was covered in soot and that he was wearing his fine silk.

"A wench, you, say..." A smile slowly crept up his brothers face. "...have I had her?"

" I doubt it...an Argonian, with breasts the size of a Bretons ego."

" That is big." Banor whispered, but his smile faded. "Argonians are vile creatures, you best stay away from them, or else your manhood will sprout scales, and become cold to the touch, and no decent woman will come anywhere near you..."

"Oh but dear brother, you see, she came pleading to me, her body cold and wet." It made him tremble with affection just thinking of it. "And she needed a man to keep her nice and warm for the night. It would be unlordly to just refuse her point blank." He chuckled to himself. He stretched, and stiffled a long yawn. Banor looked at his brother, sadness in his eyes. Those eyes brought him back to reality.

"Its best you grow up Eowyn..."

"Yes father." He joked. He always hated when his brother acted all mature towards him. Like a superior.

"No, im serious." He leaned back on the bench. "You're what, sixteen, seventeen...no seventeen, thats right." He seemed to think about this. _Banor, always thinking_. "Old enough to be married I say." Eowyn winced. "You must become an honest man, no more fooling around with common folk...and lizards." Seeing his brother so solem like this made him worried. He knew what this was all really about.

"When are you going to meet her?" He asked after an awkward silence. It was cruel of him to bring it up, but it had to be confronted eventually. Banor's dark purple skin went pale.

"What do you mean?" He asked, feigning ignorance.

"That Dolora girl." Even mentioning her name seemed to send the sun behind the clouds.

"Oh...her." The name struck a cord in Banor. About a month ago, their dear father decided it would be best for Banor to marry quickly and produce heirs, considering what lay ahead in his future. He drew up a deal with an up and coming merchant family from Cheydinhal by marrying their youngest daughter to him, against his wishes. It became the topic of many arguments.

"Yes...her." The tought that this woman was the reason behind Banors change was scary. She was only a woman after all.

" Sometime during the month I suppose. May as well get it over with quickly" He sighed, running his hand through his hair again. "You know Ewoyn, its the only thing I've truely feared my whole life. Hunting, i can do, jousting, not a problem, leading men into battle, simple. But marriage, marriage is on a whole different level. This woman..." He looked down at his feet, as if the solution to his problem would be there. "And thats not all. What if I end up with a hag." The solem silence was broken by the howl of laughter that errupted from the brothers.

"That would be something." Eowyn jeered. He decided to run with this, lighten the mood. " Her nose to big, her eyes to small, breasts like apples and legs belonging to a chicken... and the brain of an Orc." He hastily added. Laughter escaped them once more, bringing the sun back out from behind the clouds.

"A fine specimen." Banor cheered. The laughter died down. Once again, all attention went to his feet. "I do hope she isn't a hag though." His momentary pause allowed the sound of swords from outside to invade the silence. "Her sister married Count Farwil, and reports have it he has her sleeping out with the dogs." Their roaring drowned out the clash of steel.

"All this talk about women." Said Eowyn, as he tried to calm himself down, with much trouble. "And no mention of Tamira."

"Thats right!" Banor exclaimed, who also found it hard to keep down the laughs. "I almost forgot." He jerked up and walked over to a small wooden cabinet, his red cape billowing behind him in his hurry . He reached in and pulled out a long item, covered in cloth.

"Thats it then?" Eowyn asked.

"Yes. I was working on it all month." Eowyn went to draw back the cloth, but Banor whisked it away. "Do you think she'll like it?" He was worried. He hated diappointing people.

"Knowing our sister, she'll find something to complain about it." He sneered.

The item was handed over to Eowyn with great caution, as if what he was handeling was made of glass. It was light, not as heavy as he thought it would be, but then again, it was customized.

"The scabbard won't be ready for another day or two. You could bring her a temporary one if you like." He looked around the open space, as if he were missing something of importance. He gave up. "Tell her I wish her a happy birthday."

"Sure will." He replied without hesitation, having second thoughts about the gift._ Maybe we should have gone with a kitten_. "Do you know where I will find her?"

"Warren said he saw her out in the corn fields." Their was a hint of disgust in his tone.

"The fields?" _Again?_

"Talking to the workers. I see she has taken after you for showing sympathey to the lizards." He spat. Now that was a habit Banor had since he was a kid.

"How are they suppose to get work done if they're talking to her?"

"Beats me." Banor sighed. His thoughts were elsewhere. "Speaking of work, I better get started with the initiates. Now be gone."

After scourging the hundreds of work fields which the city of Tear is famous for, Eowyn eventually found his wayward sister, getting lessons off an obviously distressed Khajiit on how to use a reaper.

"So here you you are." He beamed, interrupting the lesson. She had her back turned, giving him a good view of the mess she made of trying to braid her raven coloured hair herself. It appeared she tried to cover it up by sticking small flowers in it. Instead it made it look like a nest. A rats nest. She was dressed in casual attire: a simple woolen top with some old pair of breeches. He also noted that she was shoeless.

"Oh, hi Eowyn." She didn't even bother turning around, to engulfed in the lesson. "Did you know that using a reaper is all in the hips." She grasped the reaper from the poor workers hands and tried to demonstrate her new found skill before her brother stopped her.

"A lady has no need for using a reaper." He said calmly.

"Well then a good thing I am not a lady." She retorted, equally as calm. She flashed her brother a sly smile. He handed the tool back the the Khajiit and pulled his sister away, getting dirl on the woolen top from the soot he gathered on his hand from earlier.

"You can't be doing this to them" He whispered to as he led her along the rows of corn. "If father caught you talking to them, he'd have them fired, or worse."

"You mean like what he did to the mage?" Her tone was full of knowing. She had him cornered, and all he could do was smile.

"That was different." _But was it really?_

"How? At least I'm not trying to lure them back to my bed chamber."

"Good, I'd cut off the poor sop's manhood if I'd caught him trying to." He was always very protective of his sister. Just thinking about someone trying to unclothe her brought disturbing thought to his head. "Couldn't you do something, I don't know, more useful?"

"Its better than being stuck up in the keep all day. And you never know, a reaper may come in handy one of these days." She protested. Arguing was something which she prided herself at. She has never been known to loose an argument, even with Lord Dres. "Whats that behind your back?" Eowyn had forgotten completley about the present.

"Oh, this..erm...happy birthday." He handed the clothed item to her. Her pale, blue, slender face turned to look at him. The wind was blowing long strands of hair into her face, covering her burning eyes and dispercing the flowers. Although he couldn't see them, he knew here eyes were filled with shock.

"My birthday? By the Nine it is! How could I have forgotten?" She was evidently angry with herself, as demonstrated by punching a nearby tree. But when she turned to look at him again she was suprised "More shockingly, how did YOU remember?"

"Well, you are my..." But before he could finish she had him in a tight hug.

"Thank you." She whispered. She let go of him, and took the gift from him. "What is it? Whatever it is, it's light."

"Just open it" He was eager to see her reaction. He was probably as excited as she was, for he had yet to see the finished product.

She unwrapped the cloth, and the look on her face was worth the wait. For the first time in her life, Tamira was lost for words. What lay in her hands was a sword. Not an ordinary sword, though. It had been modified to suit her weight and height, and was made from the finest blue coloured glass, to compliment her skin. The hilt had an intricate spiraling design made from emeralds and other gems, which ended in the heads of two serpants. She held the blade up to the sun, causing magnificent aqua rays to shine out from the weapon. Eowyn was astounded that his brother mustered enough patience to create such a fine piece of work. He felt slightly jealous of Tamira at that moment.

"This...this is mine?" She managed.

"Sure is." She went in for another hug. "Woah...slow down, with that thing you could take my arm off." He immediatly regreted planting that idea in her mind.

" Then why didn't you give me with a scabbard? Do you expect me to hand it off of my belt and hope it dosn't take my leg off?"

"Banor's still working on that. If you want you can get a temporary one from the barracks."

Her face softened. "This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me. But why? After all, what use does a lady have with a sword, huh? I thought you all disaproved of me using weapons." It was true. She had a habit of sneeking away from her sewing or history lessons, stealing swords from the armory and practising on old trees outside the city. She would come home cut and dirty, Lord Dres shouting at her insolence, her brothers laughing at her attempts.

"Well, as I say, you're only sixteen once. But for the Nine, dont tell father, or anyone for that matter. Infact I'm beggining to regret giving this to you out here in the fields."

"Don't worry, they wont say anything." She took a few practice swings with the sword. "Do you think I should name it? All the swords in the legends have names, like Umbra. And The Champion of Cyrodiil named his aswell, but I can't remeber the name."

"Go on then." He noticed that some of the workers had stopped what they were doing and were listening in. "Get back to work." He shouted, in his most threatening voice, which wasn't very threatening at all. _Good thing I'm not destined for lordship _he thought.

"It's hard."

"What is?" He was distracted by the workers.

"Naming it. Its alot harder than I thought. A whole bunch of name come to mind, but none of them do it any justice...its just so...magnificent."

"Well you can sleep on it then." He put an arm around his sister and they made their way back to the keep.

The keep was a grey stoned labyrinth of walls and towers, courtyards and tunnels, spreading out in all directions. In the older parts of the castle, the halls slanted up and down, so that you couldn't even be sure what floor you were on. As a child, Eowyn would climb to top of the keep and see all of Tear in a glance. He had liked the way it looked, spread out beneath him, while the life of the castle went on below. He perched there for hours among the shapeless, rain worn gargoyles, watching it all. It made him feel Lord of the castle in a way even his father wouldn't understand.

As they entered the Main Hall, now bustling with lords and ladies, commoners and peasants all wishing to seek council with Lord Dres, Eowyn was reminded of something.

"I almost forgot, we have a party planned for you." He decided to get his sister out of there. If someone important had seen her in this state, she'd be a laughing stock, although something told him she wouldn't care.

"First a sword, now a party, I must be dreaming." She nudged him. "Well, when is it?"

"In a week or two, father is organizing it. Its in Balmora."

"Why so far away?"

"Because Vuhon dosn't want to come this far down." They turned and proceeded up the main staircase, carefully covering the sword and avoiding all eye contact.

"Vuhon will be there! That'll be great. Its been so long since I've seen him. Since he became King."

"I know. Even I'm nervous about seeing him. Power can change people." As they made their way, they passed under the portraits of all the lords of Tear, since The War of the First Council. The current Lord, Chimer Dres, father of Tamira, Eowyn and Banor, was at the end, rendered in beautiful greens and blues.

"Vuhon is still our friend." She said. "Nothing can change that."

Later that night, a small feast had been arranged in celebration of Tamiras birthday, merely a placeholder for the real event.. The Great Hall was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh baked bread. Its grey stone walls were drapped with glorious banners of greens and gold. A singer was playing the harp and reciting a ballad, requested by a young Imperial woman. Eowyn, Branon and Tamira were seated at raised alter, along with Lord Dres and other nobles, such as Lord and Lady Belmoth and Sir Dalton. Eowyn was seated beside Banor, and on his other side, Sir Dalton. He made fine company, and Eowyn relished in his tales of battle, bedding and the hunt. He was certain his companion was more entertaining than the Lords and Ladies, of which Tamira was nestled in between. She did not look happy.

Tamira had really dressed up tonight, compared to what she wore out in the fields. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her raven hair, now properly brushed and flower free, its rubies a perfect match for the red of her eyes. She wore a simple red gown with a rose theme, which gave her a maturity well beyond her sixteen years. Eowyn and Banor dressed simple, green silk lined with white wool. The feast lasted a good two hours before the food was cleared up and the tables set aside for dancing. Many were to fat with chicked and mudcrab to be in the mood for dancing, but they tried anyway. First up was Tamira and Lord Dres. Father and daughter. Eowyn never saw his father look so proud of her as he did at that moment. His father was most certainly complicated when it came to his children. After they finished their dance, the rest flocked in, grabbing the nearest person for a partner. Eowyn watched with amusment as a drunk Sir Dalton tried to talk a young serving girl into dancing with him.

His thoughts came to the Argonian with whom he had spent the night with, and decided he should try and find her, but before he could, Lord Dres called him aside. The Lord opened a door which led into the large kitchen, a familiar place for Eowyn. All the cooks had abandoned their stations to go partake in the dancing, and left the cats come in from outside and nibble on the bits of scraps left over.

"It is of my understanding" his father began. "That you gave your sister a gift this morning."

"That is true." He replied, not liking where this was going. The deilcous aroma of baked mudcrab didn't help either.

"Is it also true that this...'gift', for lack of a better word, was a sharp instrument?" His father had leened in closer to him, making every wrincle on his dark face a canyon.

"Yes...I gave her a reaper..."

"Don't be smart with me." He said calmy, almost mono-tone. "I have it on good account that you and your brother gave her a sword...a fucking sword." This was also said with the same calmness. He walked over to one of the cats, which appeared to be missing an eye, and started stroking it. "I understand that it was an act of kindness, but out of everything you could possibly have given her, a sword. You must understand that you can no longer encourage this behavior in her. She is a lady. You know what lies ahead for her. No one would want her for a wife if she would rather ride a horse into battle than ride a man to pleasure, pardon the obsenity."

"I understand father." He said blankly. His mind was racing, trying to figure out who snitched. There had many workers out on the field, and one must have grabbed this oppurtunity to gain favorship from the boss. _When I find out who did it, _he thought _that reaper will be put to better use._

"Good. I will allow her to keep the sword so long as she stays out of my sight with it and no longer wanders off fighting trees." He looked desperate recalling the memories. "Could you imagine if she was seen by one of the nobility?"

With that his father walked away mumbling to himself about the subject, leaving Eowyn alone in the kitchen, with the cats. That was until a maid came crashing in through the door, her arms wrapped around a stableboy, shoving their tounges down eachothers throat. They seemed to be competeing to see who could remove all their clothes first, all the while oblivious to Eowyn. The stableboy, a Redguard youth, swiped all cooking apparatus from the table top, scaring off a small tabby in the process, and bent the maid over the hard surface. Before things got too serious he took his leave and remembered his search for that Argonian he had spent the night with.

His search was in vain. There was no sign of the woman anywhere, and he wasn't in the mood to have anyone else, so he went to sleep that night without a partner. Stretched out on his canopy bed, he unbuttened his tunic and lazily dropped it onto the floor. The maids would take care of that. He scratched at his slender chest and tried to get under the covers. He didn't care too much at the moment, his brain to dazed from excessive amount of whiskey. All he wanted right now was a good nights sleep.

He dreamt that night. This time, id didn't involve three naked maidens.

He was wading through snow, towards mountains in the distance. He was battle worn, cuts all over, his blue- black hair, longer that it was now; blood soaked. In his hand was Tamira's sword, also bearing the signs of battle. As he made his way, he came upon a tower. Not particularly big. Inside was what he was looking for, but he could not bring himself to go inside just yet, fearing what he might find. A dragon awaited.

_Thats the first chapter folks. Things should pick up in later chapters, I'm just trying to introduce the main characters before throwwing them into the horrors I've laid out for them (cue evil laugh)._

_Feel free to review, it will be greatly appreciated. Also any feedback on where I can improve would be nice too. Thanks, and hope you enjoy._


	2. Chapter 2 Star Child

_Note: This will be another relativly boring chapter. However, this will be the introduction to the other major family that plays a role in the story, the Septims. I'm a big fan of foreshadowing, so this chapter will be filled with a heapload lol. Enjoy and review._

_Special Thanks to: CelticMysteria, HoodedMage, TLOSpyrogirl, DualKatanas and SuperFunJetMonkey for reviewing. You're all awesome._

_Edit: I edited the spacing mistake, I hope._

**Chapter 2**

Eletta had gone into labour. Emperor Martin eagerly waited for the birth of his fourth grandchild. The midwife was a stern woman and would not allow any man, Emperor or not, into the bedroom. All the he had to do was wait patiently.

Eletta and Leon's bedroom was very much isolated from the rest of the Imperial Palace, practically occupying its own building. The hallway leading into the room was brightly lit, with the dusty, heavy, red curtains tied on either side of the arched windows. Martin had sat there awhile now, and began to make out images in the smoky veins of the white marble walls: a knight on horseback, a dragon, a castle, and a broken bridge. He turned his gaunt head to look at the great, double oak doors with weary eyes. An interesting detail that he never noticed before was that the knockers on the door were dragon heads. _Did all the doors in palace come with dragon headed knockers?_ He wondered. It was something he never once noticed in his twenty year reign. _Then again I have been busy._

Behind the doors were intense sounds of pain and puffing. _Poor Eletta_.

It was only an hour ago when Ocato had come to him with the news. He had been in his chambers writing letters to his youngest son -Daerren- who had been stationed in Blacklight for a few months now. The High Chancellor Altmer had come barging in, his face as red as his cloak, and gasping hard for breath. Apparently he had ran all the way from the Council Chambers and up the many flights of stairs that are typical of the White Gold Tower. It took him a while to catch his breath, but finally blurted out the good news. Martin abandoned the letters in haste and changed into more formal attire: an embroidered tunic with white linen breeches and a red half-cape to tie it all together.

He couldn't believe it. The entire palace had been waiting for this day. He rushed about the palace and burst out through the main doors, with odd glances from the Palace Guards. But he didn't care. Sure he was Emperor and it was expected of him to act proper but his love for his grand children out weighed his love for his duty. It was raining heavily, staining the magnificent white walls of the palace. He rushed quickly to his son and daughter-in-laws building holding his cape over his head. This was almost a pointless task, for Martin was balding badly, with only traces of his dark brown hair left.

Waiting there now, he began to wonder where his son Leon, heir to the Empire, husband of Eletta and father of the baby, was. _Probably in the Orrey_. He has been spending an awful lot of time there these past few weeks. The elusive heir was a mysterious person, even to his family. Even to Eletta, who was suffering immense pain at the hands of their latest child. Ocato had suggested a mage deliver the baby, to ease the pain. But Eletta had to do it the Hammerfell way, with just a midwife and a bowl of water behind closed doors.

Eletta was a stubborn person at heart. It was the way she was brought up, among warriors. Her father was the ruler of Hammerfell, so matching his only daughter off to the heir to the Empire was a logical choice. She was also a great beauty: Ebony skinned with light blond hair, fat pink lips, and innocent round, chestnut eyes. It seemed the only thing the Nine Divines didn't provide her with was round hips. The poor girl was born with awkward narrow ones, which made childbirth a living hell for her. A hell which she endured willfully. The poor Redguard became weaker with each birth, and some feared that she may not have the strength to see this baby make it into the world.

_What makes it worse for her is that Leon is not out here waiting. _The thought made Martin turn red. _A husband should always support his wife. Always. _

His son did act peculiar when it came to the birth of his children. At the time of his oldest son -ten year old Adrian- birth, he had spent an awful lot of time out in the Orrery. The week leading up to eight year old Emilia's birth he had locked himself away in the Orrery. He missed four year old Gregory's birth to study the stars, and now he opts to do the same. _Perhaps it relaxes him._

Thinking of the grandchildren made him wonder where they were. Most likely they were with Lyra, the wet nurse.

Almost every few years or so, Leon and Eletta would bless him with another addition to the family tree. At the rate they were producing, you'd swear they wanted the entire Empire composed of Septims. They made him so proud. Adrian was turning out to be a fine young man, mastering horse riding with a grace that would make a swan blush. Emilia took her duty as a princess very seriously -a bit too seriously for an eight year old- but enjoyed it none the less. The only misfortune to come from the brood was young Gregory. The unfortunate child was born a mute. Never grasped the art of speech. His condition broke the hearts of all who set eye upon him, especially Leon. The young prince dedicated much of his time since working with the Arcane University, searching for a cure to his son's condition. That was one thing you could hand to Leon, he loved his children.

By now the waiting became unbearable. The Emperor stood up from the small chair by the door and began pacing up and down the hallway, giving himself something to do. He even began searching for patterns in the walls again.

The intensifying sounds from behind the door began to escalate. The baby was nearly there. A sudden sense of deja-vu hit the Emperor. This was exactly how he experienced every other birth; out in the hallway, having to listen to the pains of labour, wondering where his son was.

And with one last hail that nearly rocked the Imperial City, the wailing of a healthy baby could be heard.

Martin dashed to the door as soon as he heard this. He had waited long enough. He was going to see his grandchild, midwife, or not. He knocked gently on the hard door, but no answer. Curious, he opened it slowly. Light poured into the dimly lit room, so he shut the door behind him again.

"Your Majesty" whispered a hoarse voice from behind him. "Come see your granddaughter." As he turned around, he noticed the blood stained fur cover of the four poster bed which was now occupied by an exhausted Eletta and her newborn. Her ebony skin glistened with sweat in the candle light, and her hair lay limp, messy and straw-like by her shoulders. The amazing eyes of hers had been narrowed and her chest heaved up and down. She wrapped herself and the baby in the bloody furs. He stood there perplexed, lost for words. It was beautiful in a way. He glided over to the bedside, his half cape flying behind him.

"Oh Eletta, she's beautiful." He whispered trying not to disturb the babe. The baby had a light caramel complexion, darker than the other children who inherited their father's Imperial genes. However, this child had Leon's nose, and eyes. She had beautiful blue eyes.

"Isn't she?" The midwife said who was now standing behind the crouching Emperor. Her sleeves were rolled up around her elbows, and they too had traces of blood on them. Her wispy grey hair was tied in a bun. "She was a difficult one too, stubborn, just like her mother." The older woman wore a smile of pride. Rosemary, her name was. She had a wandering left eye, which scared the children. She was an Imperial, but grew up in Hammerfell, and had been Eletta's personal maid since she was a child. She was one of the only things Eletta brought with her from Hammerfell.

"What is her name?" Martin asked, turning back to the mother.

"Leon and I decided on Ysabel for a girl. My mother's name is Ysabel." It was evident that speaking was straining for her. Her voice was cracked from all the shouting and wailing. "Do you want to hold her, Your Majesty?" Martin hated it when she called him that.

"Yes, of course." He replied immediately. Eletta handed her child over to the Emperor, her grandfather. "She's heavy." He remarked. It looked at him with innocent, round eyes. He ran his callused hands over her head, feeling how smooth it was.

"Rosemary." Eletta whispered to the midwife. "Would you go fetch the children please. They would love to see their sister. And Leon, bring him here too."

"Very well, my lady." She bowed before Martin and left to round up the rest of the Septim household. She shut the door a little too loudly, and caused Ysabel to cry. Martin reluctantly handed the baby back to its mother. She pulled out her round breast and let the baby feed.

"She has a fine pair of lungs this one does." She giggled, reminding the Emperor of her youth. Only twenty six and already has four children.

"There will be no fear of her." He reassured her. His smile slowly faded away, relaxing the wrinkles on his brow. "Would you like me to open the curtains?"

"If you don't mind, that would be appreciated." She replied without taking her eyes off of her newborn; who was enjoying the milk a bit too much. He got up from his crouching position, cracking his knee caps in the process. Relief. He unfastened the half cape and left it on the bed. He made his way around the bed, which took up most the room, and walked to the curtains. They were red with white spiral designs that seemed to waver with the creases of the curtain. Grasping them told him they were made from satin. He pulled them back gently, letting in the dim light from outside. The rain still hadn't stopped. The light spilled into the room, illuminating details he had missed before such as; the bowl of bloody water and cloth by the foot of the bed and a blue-ish/green like cord hanging out from it like a snake. This was no doubt the umbilical cord, the life cord. Old tradition had it that when a child was born, the mother would eat the cord to ensure a healthy childhood. Thankfully that tradition died out, but it was to his knowledge that some in Skyriim still practised it to this day. Repulsive Nords he thought, but was immediately guilty thinking this. Other things he missed were the blades used to cut the cord which were dangerously placed on the counter by the bed.

He then preceded to blow out the -no longer needed- candle. There was a distinct smell of burning after this, but it would do well to hide the stench of sweat. He then pulled a chair away from a cluttered desk and sat down on it by the bedside.

"Do you think Leon would be happy with a girl?" She asked him after some time. Ysabel was now asleep and wrapped in Martins cape, which he offered willingly.

"Leon will be happy with anything." He replied calmly. "You could have popped out an Argonian and he would still love it." The joke didn't seem to go down to well with Eletta who just stared at her baby.

"I was thinking perhaps bringing the children up to Sentinel for a few weeks, to see their Grandparents." She said, a little louder now. " Adrian was six last time they saw them. They've yet to see Gregory and with Ysabel, I thought it would be an appropriate time for them to see my children in their entirety." She looked at him pleadingly.

"That would be perfectly fine with me." He replied. "Perhaps sometime during the year, when the things have settled down and you're feeling better."

"Thank you, Martin." He couldn't help but grin like an idiot. She addressed him as an equal.  
The door opened again. Rosemary had returned with the children. But no Leon. They stood in the doorway.

"Come in children, come see your new sister." Beckoned Eletta from the bed. Adrian was the first to walk in. He was wearing his riding gear, his helmet under his arms. His short blond hair was dry, considering it was raining. Must have worn the helmet over. Clever. He bowed before his grandfather and flashed him an excited smile. He went to the other side of the bed, nearly tripping over the bowl.

"Rosemary said it was a girl." He said casually to his mother, although it was obvious he was trying to quell his excitement. "What is her name.?"

"Ysabel." She replied gently.

"Like grandmother?"

"Yes." She never looked so happy. "Like your grandmother. Do you want to hold her?" She handed the baby over to him. The difference in complexion was now very obvious. The light caramel of Ysabel contrasted greatly with Adrian's pale skin. He looked at his sister with dark brown eyes.

"She is cute." He remarked. "Emilia, Greg, come look at look at our sister."

Emilia left the safety of the doorway and waltzed over to her brother. She too stopped to bow to Martin. She wore a frilly white dress that stopped just below the knee, which was fastened with a blue bow. Her curly, light blonde hair was dripping with rain water.

"May I hold her now mother?" She asked sweetly.

"Of course dear." Her smile broadened. "Adrian let your sister hold Ysabel." He handed the baby over with reluctance.

As Emilia cradled her sister, Eletta looked to the doorway. "Come on Greg, its ok, come in and say hello to your new sister." The small boy had darker hair than the rest, almost brown. His thumb in his mouth, he let go of Rosemary's hand and waddled over to his siblings. He was the only one who didn't bow. Emilia lowered herself so that her brother could see Ysabel. "Isn't she lovely Greg?" Eletta asked her son. "Go on, rub her." She encouraged him. Gregory used his free hand -the one that wasn't in his mouth- to gently rub the baby's head. Martin looked on as the child imitated his actions.

He leaned over to Eletta and whispered. "They look good together, don't they?" She turned her head to examine her children, huddled together, fawning over their sister. A tear ran down her sweat stained cheek.

"They are such good children." Not wishing to let her children see her crying, she looked to the doorway. "Did Leon not come?" She asked Rosemary. She sounded heavily disappointed.

"I could not find him on the Palace grounds, my lady." She bowed her head.

"What do you mean?" Eletta snapped, a bit too harshly. She sat up straight in the bed.

"I..." But before the midwife could finish, Martin explained.

"He is at the University, I should have reminded you." he looked to Eletta, then to Rosemary.

"Oh. Rosemary, I'm sorry for snapping, its just..."

"Its ok my lady. I will go bring the Prince here..." Once again Martin cut her off.

"No, that will be OK." He got up off his chair. "I will fetch my son."

"Very well you Majesty." She bowed and entered the room, to clean up her equipment.

"I'll be back soon." He reassured Eletta.

"Your too kind Martin." She replied earnestly.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
Nightfall had descended upon the Empire by the time Martin reached the Arcane University. The Palace Guards had arranged a carriage to bring him to his destination in haste. No one anticipated the heavy traffic of peasants hauling their carts down the streets, returning home for the night. The lamps were being lit along the streets as they left, and Martin felt the eyes of the city on him, surrounded by the guard in their white cloaks. When they crossed the wide stone bridge that connected the University to the city, the portcullis was up and the great gate open. The University windows were alive with the flickering of lights. The guards parked the carriage outside the gate and escorted him up to the doors. The rain had stopped.

"That'll do" He gestured brusquely to the guards. "Wait for me. I shall not be long." The guards bowed, their glorious armour illuminated in the purple pyres surrounding the building. Martin took a deep breath before entering the place of magic and illusion.

The lobby area was sparsely decorated, and rather unimpressive. It was brightly lit by wall scones, illuminating the doors of the Orrery. Sitting at a bench in magnificent blue garbs was a grizzled Imperial. No doubt this was the Arch-Mage. He lifted his head from his book.  
"Your Majesty!" He exclaimed quietly. "It is an honour." The man snapped the book shut and glided with great elegance over to the Emperor.

"Raminus, it is good to see you." He said with a dry smile. The Imperial had aged well. It had been years since he had seen Polus, and he didn't look a day over forty five. Martin guessed that it was probably something to do with living in such a magical environment. The Arch-Mage's hair had kept most of its thick brown volume with only faint streaks of grey visible, and only the smallest hint of wrinkles could be made out across his forehead. He had also grown a short beard around his chin.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure." With he flick of his wrist, he summoned two glasses over from a nearby table, aswell as a bottle of wine. Floating just between the two men, the bottle of wine began to pour itself into the the glasses.

"That won't be necessary Raminus, I'm here for my son."

"Ah, the young Prince." The floating object went back to their original places. "Yes, he has been spending an awful lot of time here lately." He began stroking his beard. "Not that we don't mind." He added quickly. "Its lovely of him to donate so much to the University. And his presence is always welcomed." Martin didn't have time for this conversation. Raminus had a habit of having long talks with people. Not tonight.

"May I see him." He asked, annoyed.

"Of course, the Orrery is right through there." He lifted his hand lazily, weighed down by the massive sleeve, and pointed at the double doors. "Now if you excuse me your Majesty." He said bowing. "I must be off. I've been receiving reports all week from Skyriim about Necromancer troubles and they just won't stop bothering me." With that, he glided over to a small round carving on the ground. It emitted a purple glow. The light grew intensely bright, causing Martin to cover his eyes. When he looked back, Raminus was gone. Mages he thought with amusement.

Martin walked up to the double doors of the Orrery and knocked gently before entering.

He was alone in the immense room, seated at a heavy wooden table, an oil lamp beside him as he wrote. When he heard the door open, he set down his pen and looked at him.

"Father." he said quietly.

"Good evening Leon." he said icily.

"I've angered you father. That was never my intention." He looked contrite. Martin examined his son. The years had not changed him. Leon had been a tall boy, and had grown into a tall man. A foot taller than Martin, slender and quick, with sharp features, and those blue eyes. His golden hair was tied back in a ponytail, fastened with a silver ring. He inherited his blond hair from his mother. She was a Nord, daughter to the Countess of Bruma. She had died eighteen years ago. Leon wore a vest of woven gold thread over a loose gown of purple silk.  
"You were missed today." Martin told him while picking up a peculiar round object made from gold wire.

"That's a..." He began but was cut off by Martin.

"I don't care what the what that thing is." He exclaimed. "Your wife is sitting in bed with her newborn waiting and you..."

"The baby has been born!" He said, shocked, standing up from behind the table. He had inherited his father's habit of interrupting sentences. He whisked over to the massive telescope which dominated the room. An odd contraption, made from cogs and wheels, something Martin will never understand. Leon slowly adjusted the machine, muttering to himself. "The lady."

"What?" Martin asked.

"My child has been born under the sign 'The Lady'." He seemed disappointed by this for some strange reason. He was deep in thought about something while Martin continued the conversation.

"It's a girl by the way."

"What?" He snapped out of his trance. "Oh, yes, a girl. Excellent. It's Ysabel then." He went back to the books on the table in front of him and frantically began to turn pages.

"Yes." Martin said, disappointed in his son's apparent lack of interest. That was before Leon flung the book across the room and buried his hands in his face. Martin, in a state of shock and confusion went to his sons side.

"Is she beautiful?" He asked, in a half whisper. A strand of hair had fallen infront of his face, making him look half-mad.

"She is. As beautiful as the stars." he reassured his son, putting an arm around him.

"A star child." Leon said to himself. "Is she...healthy?"

"Very." He had never seen his son like this before. He was always so composed. But now, now his soul was exposed.

"And Eletta? Is Eletta all right?"

"Son, she's a Redguard. She is too stubborn to allow something as simple as childbirth to hurt her."

"Not like mother." Leon whispered. The Emperor looked at the Prince in disgust. He stood up, brushed himself down and walked over to the telescope, fiddling with the knobs. He left his son by the table. _What is he up to?_

"No, not like your mother." He choked. He would not cry. He had done his mourning

"Did you hate Daerren." He asked with a shocking calmness to his tone.

"Why would you ask something like that." He looked at his son, confused and annoyed._ Why is he talking about this.? _

"Well, mother died bringing my brother into this world. Its only natural you should feel contempt for him." Leon had a distant look in his eyes.

"Leon, this is nonsense. If Eletta had died bringing Ysabel into this world, would you hate the child?"

There was a long pause before Leon answered. "I don't know. I guess not. It's just I don't want to loose her."

"But you haven't." Martin said, even more annoyed by his sons childish behaviour. "Your mother was ill when she gave birth to Daerren." Memories of pain and suffering came flooding back. "Eletta is perfectly healthy." He barely finished.

"I guess you're right." He sighed. He fixed the stray strand of hair back into place. "Shall we head back to the Palace? I want to hold my daughter."

_So that's chapter two guys. I didn't particullarly enjoy writing this chapter, considering how boring it is. It probably shows too. I got a better spell checker, so hopefully there will be less spelling mistakes. Please Review._


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